


D&D - Cornered

by rprambles



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [5]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Fear, Gen, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 01:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20922074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rprambles/pseuds/rprambles
Summary: Prompt: cold blooded torture





	D&D - Cornered

He really hates the idea of turf. The thought that no one can work on this area because someone years ago said it was theirs. Invisible lines over city blocks that don't really exist with markers that just look like scribbles and piss to anyone who isn't local. Which means he has to watch out for the local thieves as well as the guards. And thieves are better at ambushes.

He grunts at another blow, head ringing from the pain. He'd be doubled over by now if not for the brute's tight grip keeping him upright. A nice target for the thieves taking turns drumming their fists on him.

"Fuckin' leatherbacks, they never bruise like they should."

His ribs disagree; it hurts to breathe too deep. Not that he can argue with the belt tight on his snout.

"Just gotta take a different angle." One of them draws a knife. Kilrash struggles as he steps closer, but the brute holding him doesn't budge. The knife prods at his shoulder and he squirms in protest.

"Hold him still."

An arm presses against his throat, pinning him against the brute's chest. Dull pain turns sharp and Kilrash screams against the gag. His tail thrashes uselessly, feet scramble against the cobblestone. Something pulls and he whines at the warmth trickling down his chest.

The thieves laugh as his torturer holds up a bloody white scale. "Who wants a souvenir?"

He bites back a sob, closing his eyes tight. Gods, he wants to be anywhere else, he wants this to stop. What if they don't let him go, will they pull every scale off until he's bleeding out in the gutter? Over ten fucking gold?! Mishan, who's gonna take care of Mishi?!

Something cool touches his mind through the panic, a soft sibilant hiss.

_Show..._

He blinks away unshed tears, wincing as he takes a breath. Focuses on the alley past his captors. He doesn't move so much as melt, slipping past them all before they see, before they even breathe. He feels himself return to solid at the end of the alley. The aches in his chest and gut throb in time with his heartbeat, his own blood drips onto his toes. He yanks the belt off and tastes the frost at the back of his tongue. A presence settles into the back of his mind, familiar, dark, cold.

_Show them._

Black-purple energy coils around his fingers, crackling softly. He doesn't hear the thieves yelling anymore, just wind and the rasp of scales.

_**Show. Them.**_

He turns and raises his hand. The first bolt of energy hits the nearest thief and takes his face off. The next brings the brute down to one knee, holding his side as blood flows. The others gape in horror, a few taking shaky steps back.

Too late.


End file.
